A Mouthful of Air
by JD4
Summary: Luka, Abby, Carter: full of triangley goodness. It's not a Carby, it's not a Luby; it's just what it is.
1. Lay the Blame on Luck

FANFIC TITLE: A Mouthful of Air  


CATEGORY: AL/LK angsty friendship

  
RATING: PG-13/R [for language only]

  
SPOILERS: Through all of season 8; this idea came partly from a couple of season 9 spoilers (BUT ONLY FRILLY, UNIMPORTANT SPOILERS—NOTHING SUBSTANTIVE, I SWEAR) and partly from my own twisted brain  


SUMMARY: In a Carter 'n' Abby world, Luka tries to come to terms with his feelings... and yes, there *is* a long-overdue girls' night out.

****

Chapter 1: Lay the Blame on Luck

Dr. Luka Kovac ambled down the hallway toward the admit desk to hand in a finished chart, eyeing the small group amassed behind the counter. Frank was there, passionately arguing with Jerry about the benefits (or lack thereof) of a meatless diet. There was Susan Lewis, rolling her eyes in disgust and sneering at the back of Kerry Weaver, who was walking away in the other direction. Susan then turned to gripe about something — Weaver, no doubt — to Abby.

Abby.

She was behind the desk, smirking at Susan's tirade, her eyes light and energetic. Luka smiled slightly. He couldn't help it — he smiled whenever she smiled nowadays.

He was just about to walk up to her and ask how she was doing when a large figure in a white doctor's coat suddenly grabbed her from behind, wrapping his long arms around her. She half-heartedly struggled against Dr. Carter, giggling at her inability to get out of his iron grip. 

"Carter, let go," she said, trying to get the words out as she gasped for air, her lungs constricted by his limbs and her own laughter. 

Carter released her but stole a chaste kiss on her cheek, grinning as he picked up a new chart and walked off in the direction of curtain 3. As he sauntered off, he started singing: "... aw, baby, just for you I'd steal anything that you want me to ..."

"Jesus," Susan said, looking first to the exiting figure of Carter and then to the elated Abby. "You two are really disgusting, you know that? When I'm chief of the ER, my first mandate will be: 'No public displays of affection.'"

Luka tried quietly to drop off his chart, hoping to stay under their radar.

"Oh, will this be a 'Do as I say, not as I do' kind of mandate?" Abby asked, her eyebrows raised.

"What?" Susan asked with an exaggerated air of innocence.

Abby crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against the desk. "Shall I remind you of a certain kissing incident with a certain doctor that occurred in the lounge...."

"Ohhhh," Susan replied, sheepishly. "Let me amend that. No public displays of affection at the desk or in the hallways. The lounge, the suture room, and the bathrooms are OK..."

"The BATHROOMS?" an astonished Abby interrupted, her face plastered with a ribald grin. "Something you'd care to share?"

"Not really — LUKA, how's it going?" Susan was glad to use the Croatian as a diversion. As soon as Abby turned her head to look at him, Susan hightailed it down the opposite hallway. Abby turned again and watched her friend — a relatively new albeit good friend — make her getaway.

Abby chuckled at how Susan outsmarted her, then laughed harder at Luka's confused expression as his eyes followed the departing Dr. Lewis.

"Why did she ask how I was and then leave?" he pondered out loud, more to himself than to Abby.

"She was trying to get out of answering a difficult question." Abby answered.

"Ah." He walked to the board and erased the name of the patient whose chart he'd just handed in. 

"So how _are_ you doing?" Abby asked without a trace of insincerity.

"Good," Luka smiled, hoping to convince her of his answer.

"Are you off now?"

"Yeah." 

"Have anything fun planned?"

Luka considered how much to tell her, then decided he didn't want to give her an answer that might lead to more questions. "No, not really."

Abby shrugged her shoulders, pursing her lips a bit. "Well, I guess I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah, see you later," he responded, then made his way to the lounge.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He opened up his locker, took off his stethoscope and placed it on the shelf inside. As he took off his white coat and hung it on the hook, his mind played out the past several days like a grainy movie he really didn't want to watch.

She was happy now, he figured. Happy in a way she'd never really been when she was with him. Ever since the ER's brush with smallpox a couple of weeks ago, Abby and Carter had been together as a couple. Luka supposed it had a lot to do with them being quarantined together during a such a stressful period in their lives — as a veteran, he had seen how bonds between people strengthened under fear-fraught situations. In Carter and Abby's case, they'd already been incredibly close to begin with. Their being virtually locked together for more than a day just pushed them over the edge, Luka guessed.

And he was happy for her, he had to admit. He cared so deeply for Abby, despite how infuriating she could be sometimes. Seeing her smile lifted his heart.

But when he was completely honest with himself, he knew it was a bittersweet contentedness he felt. For as much as he wanted her to be happy, why couldn't she have been happy with _him_? Why did John Carter have to be the one to brighten her mood, to break through her shell, to just simply _be_ with her the way she wanted someone to be with her? Seeing the two of them at work together, smiling, laughing, touching . . . He tried to wipe those images from his mind, but he couldn't. Even though he had convinced himself he didn't want to get back together with her, it still wounded his pride to see Carter succeed where he had failed.

"Shit," he quietly murmured, berating himself for this barrage of self-pity. Abby was his friend now, just as she had been for the past few months, and that was a good thing. He had to grant that he truly enjoyed the familiar, almost familial, give-and-take they'd had ever since she moved in with him. Hell, they'd had longer, more personal talks _after_ their breakup than they ever did when they'd been sharing a bed. More selfishly, he was glad he could finally be there for her when she needed him — offering her a place to stay, lending her a sympathetic ear, helping her move back into her own apartment, placing locks on her door to make her feel safe. He was able to be there for her, just as Carter had been there for her so many times before.

Finally ready to leave, his black bag over his shoulder and car keys in hand, he slammed his locker door and left the lounge. As the ambulance bay doors opened, the Indian-summer heat latched onto his skin, making him wince slightly at its oppressiveness. He reached into his bag, pulled out his sunglasses and put them on. With a weight on his shoulder and a heavier weight on his mind, he strode toward the Viper.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"He said _what_?" Susan asked incredulously.

Dr. Lewis had just finished her shift and was grabbing a soda out of the fridge in the lounge. Jing-Mei Chen, reclining back on the couch with her feet propped up on an armrest, was regaling her with the latest of Dr. Pratt's lame come-ons.

"He said, 'Heaven must be missin' a couple of angels, 'cause I can see them in your blouse.'" She threw her head back and laughed heartily, her ebony hair swishing over the back of the couch.

Susan rolled her eyes as she popped open the Diet Coke and took a swig.

"He says crap like that and gets away with it. Meanwhile, I _innocently_ peek into someone's duffel bag, and I'm saddled with the all-day sexual harassment seminar from hell. Does that seem fair to you, Chen?" 

She took another sip from the can, then shook her head. "This just isn't doing it for me."

"What do you mean?" Jing-Mei inquired.

"I mean," Susan continued, "that I could use a real drink after the day I've had. Weaver's got it in for me, I swear."

"Well, _obviously_," Jing-Mei answered, intrigued as to how Susan could be so obtuse about something to blatant. "The only person she hates more than you is _me_."

"Granted. So let's go drown our Weaver-induced sorrows in some alcohol, what do you say?"

"I'm in. Technically, I'm already off — just curious about the results of some labs I ordered."

Susan smiled. "Great... Have you ever heard of a place called the Lava Lounge?"

Just as Susan got those last few words out of her mouth, the door to the lounge swung open.

"Someone say something about the Lava Lounge?" Abby piped in as she shuffled into the room.

"Yep," Jing-Mei answered, turning her head to look at the newcomer. "Susan and I were just talking about heading there tonight. You up for it?"

Abby took less than a second to ponder the offer. "Of course. I'm still pissed that I never got my free tiki mask from last time."

Susan, using her facetious mother-hen voice, asked, "Are you sure your _boyfriend_ won't mind?"

Abby mock-glared at Susan, the glint in her eyes betraying inner amusement, not anger. "He's on for another seven hours or so. And even if he wasn't, it's not like I need his permission. I'm not completely whipped, you know."

"Whatever," Susan dismissed Abby's protestations with a wave of her hand. "So if we're all ready to go, what's keeping us?" 

"Nothing!" Jing-Mei chimed in, a little too excited. "But I'm not designated driver." 

"Hell," countered Susan, "no oneis designated driver. That's why God invented the 'L' and cabs . . ."

The three women bounded out the lounge door, turned and walked out of the ambulance bay doors, and were absorbed into the warm night air.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

END NOTES: The story title "A Mouthful of Air" comes from a Catherine Wheel song of the same name: "Deeper and deeper I go/Your heart's drowning, I know/All my intentions are clear/I need to rescue my dear/So I dive, don't despair/Coming down with a mouthful of air/To share..." Chapter title comes from Love Spit Love's "Am I Wrong?" The song Carter walks off singing is "Suck My Kiss" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers — since we already know he owns the "Blood Sugar Sex Magik" CD. And Pratt's come-on is actually a Joe Garelli line from "NewsRadio" and was originally directed at Catherine Duke (played by Khandi Alexander, who of course played Benton's sister... yes, it *all* comes back to "ER" in the end...)


	2. Just Around the Corner

TITLE: A Mouthful of Air

AUTHOR: JD

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Because one time at the Lava Lounge is never enough...

****

Chapter 2: Just Around the Corner

"This is the same place?" An astonished Abby stood in the packed entranceway of the Lava Lounge. 

Behind her, Susan and Jing-Mei wedged themselves into the crowd.

"We are never going to get a table," Susan complained. "Where the hell did all these people come from? This was supposed to be my secret little dive! Who _are_ these people?"

Oozing confidence, Jing-Mei replied: "Don't worry about a table. You guys get our drinks, and I'll get us a place to sit."

Abby and Susan exchanged disbelieving glances, shrugged, and meandered through the twenty-somethings to the bar.

"Is she actually going to find a table?" Abby inquired, elbowing some underage toothpick of a girl out of her way.

"I sure as hell hope so. After the day I had, I just want to sit on my ass and get plastered."

When the ladies finally arrived at the bar, Susan was pleasantly surprised to see her favorite bartender hard at work. He looked like an extra in "Point Break," she thought abstractly.

"Hey," he said with a shake of his surfer-blond hair. "Susan, right?"

Susan tried to keep a straight face as the tiny voice behind her whispered: "Free drinks, free drinks, free drinks...."

After shutting Abby up with a brief but laser-deadly glare, Susan turned to Point Break with the sweetest smile she could muster. "Yeah, you remembered!"

"What can I get ya? A couple of sacrificial virgins again?"

"Perfect. But make it three."

As Point Break scuttled off to prepare their drinks, ignoring the ever-louder pleas of other patrons for more beers, Susan and Abby people-watched with the intensity of anthropologists jacked up on espresso.

"I think I pumped that guy's stomach last week," Abby nodded toward one barfly, who was staring desperately at the breasts of the girl sitting on the stool next to him.

"Oh, yeah. He's a winner." Susan spun her neck in the other direction. "How 'bout that chick? What's with the Bon Jovi poodle hair?"

Abby snorted. "And here I thought people didn't own crimping irons anymore."

"Here you go, ladies." Point Break carefully placed the three fishbowls of booze on the bar. "How do you want to settle up?"

Susan and Abby peered at their enormous drinks, then looked into each others' eyes, communicating wordlessly. They both knew what had to be done in a situation like this.

Susan took the initiative, leaning over on the bar, trying her best to give Point Break an eyeful. "I think we're going to need to start a tab," she purred, handing over a credit card.

Her magic worked. "Sure thing," he said, as he took the card from her. "But your next round, that's on the house."

"Aw, thanks so much," she coyly replied.

As they hoisted the drinks and walked away from the bar, Abby deadpanned, "Did you ever know that you're my hero?"

"Don't get all 'Beaches' on me, OK?" Susan laughed. "Now where in the world is Chen?"

Instantly, a glass-shattering whistle went out above the din of the cranked-up jukebox and boisterous crowd. Abby and Susan looked up to the second floor of the bar. A very tall Jing-Mei, apparently standing on a chair, was waving her arms to get their attention.

They "excuse-me'd" their way up the wooden steps, careful not to spill a drop of their gigantic concoctions.

As they arrived at the diminutive table and relieved themselves of their liquid burdens, Abby spoke for the both of them: "Who did you have to do to get a table?"

"No one," Jing-Mei answered, as they all took their seats. "But see those two guys standing up over there, the ones in the suits?" she pointed. 

Abby and Susan found themselves looking at a couple of decent-looking but very-much-older men. The seniors waved at the women, smiling.

"Yeah?" Abby asked, afraid to hear what the grandpas had to do with their getting a table.

"Well, they just wanted my phone number."

"You gave them your home phone number?" Susan gaped.

"Of course not." Jing-Mei coolly helped herself to a taste from the oversized straw in her glass. "I gave them Weaver's."

Their eyes bulging, their bodies weightless with pure infantile glee, Abby and Susan collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Straining for oxygen, Abby parroted her earlier remark: "Did you ever know that you're my hero?"

"So fickle!" Susan cried out at Abby, while Jing-Mei just looked incredibly pleased with herself and took another sip.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"Check him out," Jing-Mei slurred, the sound system intermittently arresting their conversation.

Their tiny table was now a haven for empty glasses. A graveyard of cherry stems and miniature paper umbrellas littered the floor by their feet. The bar was even more crowded than it had been when they first entered, and Susan and Jing-Mei were attempting to discover the best-looking man in Chicago.

... _Was looking for the new thing_

And you were the sunshine

In my front line

I was alone

You were just around the corner from me...

Susan slung her heavy head to the side to evaluate Jing-Mei's latest find.

"He's all right. Needs to shave that Gomez Addams mustache, though."

"Cara mia!" Abby bellowed, amusing no one but herself, as Jing-Mei and Susan were already looking around for another specimen to take apart. 

"How 'bout him?" Susan gestured doubtfully.

"Who? Unibrow? I don't think so!" Jing-Mei cackled.

"So buy the man some tweezers," Susan shrugged. "He's tall, he's got broad shoulders..."

"And he's got a shrubbery growing out of the bridge of his nose!" Jing-Mei howled.

__

... and this bottle of Beast is taking me home

I'm cuddling close to blankets and sheets

But you're not alone

You're not discreet

Make sure I know who's taking you home ...

Abby, happily blitzed and oblivious to their cruel candor, stared off into space and wished for just two things: a cigarette, and Carter.

Of course, it eventually dawned on her that Carter would probably _not_ appreciate the fact that she was drinking. Honestly, his earnestness did grate on her nerves occasionally. He seemed committed to her sobriety as if it were the only thing supplying him with the oxygen necessary to survive. Sure, she was touched that he was concerned about her. Hell, she _wanted_ him to be concerned about her. After all, Luka never was. Or if he was, he sure hid it pretty damn well the entire time they were dating. 

But sometimes, Abby thought, she just wanted to be left alone. Was there something wrong with that? Besides, this time it was different. She understood Carter's trepidation, of course. He never knew her before AA, didn't know what she'd been like. She was much better now. She could handle it. She knew the warning signs, and if it got too bad, too darkly familiar, she would get herself to a meeting. But here, now, this was how _normal_ people drank: she was out with her friends, letting off steam. She didn't have to be at work the next day, she wasn't driving home. Simply put, she wasn't hurting anyone.

__

... I know I've got a bad reputation

And it isn't just talk, talk, talk

If I could only give you everything

You know I haven't got ... 

"HELLO." Susan's interest was piqued by a new contestant. "I think we have a winner."

"Well, he's tall all right," Jing-Mei approved. "Now if he would just turn around so we could see his face...."

"Who cares about his face? Look at those shoulders, that thick hair..."

"Yeah, baby, c'mon. Turn around. Come to mama."

Abby snapped out of her reverie, intrigued by the bawdy comments tossed around the table, and turned around just in time to see the new prized paragon step into the light. 

"Whoops," Susan tried to backtrack, glancing at Abby out of the corner of her eye. "Uh, it must've been the lighting."

Jing-Mei, who wasn't so easily embarrassed, hollered for the gentleman to join them: "Luka! LUKA!" She jumped up so that he could see her, waving with the enthusiasm of a child seeing Mickey Mouse for the first time, nearly knocking every glass off their table.

Abby stared silently as Luka, looking incredibly uncomfortable at the prospect of being spotted by his manifestly drunk female co-workers – and his ex-girlfriend in particular – lumbered up the steps toward their table.

"'Fess up, Kovac," Jing-Mei eyed him suspiciously. "You're following us."

"Actually, I'm.... I'm meeting someone." He avoided looking at Abby, instead staring down at his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pants pockets.

"Well, you should sit with us till she gets here." Jing-Mei teetered, attempting to sit back down in her chair.

Luka, figuring it would be easier to be detained with the Happy Hour Three for a few minutes rather than to argue with an inebriated Chen, looked around for an empty chair. Silently, he borrowed one from an adjacent table and perched somewhat restlessly upon it. 

Susan, looking from Luka to Abby then back to Luka, decided she couldn't play mute much longer. "So, is she anyone we know?" she asked, trying to keep some semblance of conversation going.

"No one from work," he mumbled. "Her name's Michelle." 

At that, Abby perked up.

"Did she enjoy the Ice Capades?" She laughed quietly.

Susan, undoubtedly the most sober of the three women – which wasn't saying much – silently thanked God that Abby had decided to join the dialogue. "You took a woman to the Ice Capades? Please tell me you're kidding."

Luka's apprehension seemed to melt away at the curiosity of the plastered women. "No," he smiled. "And she had a good time," he added defensively.

"Hmm," Jing-Mei pondered, her eyelids heavy. "Must be an Eastern European thing."

"That or she's a really big fan of people in enormous animal suits gliding around on skates," Abby threw in. "Which should be frightening to anyone, regardless of geography."

Luka leaned back in his chair, relieved that Abby felt comfortable with him joining the threesome. He certainly hadn't counted on seeing her tonight, but he was gratified to be able to talk to her outside of work.

"You're just jealous 'cause I never took you." Luka looked pleased with his comeback, folding his arms on his chest.

"Actually, I was holding out for when the circus came to town," Abby retorted.

Jing-Mei, who had appeared to be wavering in and out of consciousness, suddenly leaped to her feet, her eyes open and fully alert. "Holy crap, I _love _this song!" Before anyone could stop her, she was grooving to the tune that was saturating the bar, warbling along with Wild Cherry:

"And just when it hit me, somebody turned around and shouted 'PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC, WHITE BOY!!!'"

"Please, god, make it stop," Susan uttered hopefully. 

"Well, while you all deal with _her_," Abby indicated Jing-Mei with a toss of her head, "why don't I get us some more drinks? A draft, Luka?"

"Yeah, please." He fished out his wallet, but Abby was already shaking her head and waving her delicate small hands in protest as she walked away, her backpack/purse swinging on her shoulder. He repocketed his wallet and watched Abby stroll down toward the bar, periodically glancing at the door to see if Michelle had arrived. 

"SORRY!" Somehow, during her spastic dance, one of Jing-Mei's shoes not only had flown off her foot but had hit someone in the head. A pissed off Northwestern student handed her back the offending projectile. She tried gracefully to put her shoe back on while standing, but only succeeded in toppling to the floor.

Susan cast her eyes at Luka. With a straight face, she calmly announced: "And people wonder why we don't all go out together very often."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

He walked up the steps of the front entranceway, weaving his way in and out of the people standing on the porch. He knew his friends were already inside – they'd had to cajole him for a good thirty minutes before he agreed to meet them out for a drink. The past several months had been the worst of his life, and he wasn't sure that being surrounded by a gaggle of cheerful drunks was the best thing for him. He'd spent the past few months adjusting to a new lifestyle: new classes, new apartment, new living arrangements. Mostly a homebody now, he had yet to fully explore his new neighborhood. That's why his pals suggested they all go to this unusual bar called the Lava Lounge, which it turned out was only three long blocks from his new home. After a half hour of hearing them plead, he finally relented.

He trudged over to the bar stools, looking for his buddies over the heads of the other patrons. I'm never going to find them in this place, he thought to himself. Luckily, one of them spotted him and called out to him.

"Brian! BRIAN! Over here, man!"

END NOTES: The chapter title comes from "Life on a Chain" by Pete Yorn, and it's also the first song that plays in the background at the LL. I figured "just around the corner" referred not only to Luka but to surprise guest star Matthew Settle. Next song is "Screaming Infidelities" by Dashboard Confessional. Third song is "Bad Reputation" by Freedy Johnston. And Chen's impromptu sing-along accompanies "Play that Funky Music (White Boy)" by Wild Cherry. The volley of background songs was definitely inspired by the bombardment of '70s easy-listening classics in "Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic" (got a soft spot in my heart for all those songs, especially "Brandy" by The Looking Glass -- GOD, I'm old). Finally, to all the Chen fans out there: I hope you don't think I'm being mean. We kid because we love – besides, she's a total wild child, and you know it.


	3. Sparks

TITLE: A Mouthful of Air

  
AUTHOR: JD

  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In the "A Mouthful of Air" universe (and such a lovely universe it is), the Lava Lounge's front entrance is basically a mirror image of its rear entrance. Not that it really matters, but I wanted to acknowledge to the rabid fans (of which I count myself a member) that I do indeed realize that the wooden porch upon which Abby and Carter sat in "The Letter" appeared to be the back of the bar, not the front.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Still at the Lava Lounge, Luka comes to Abby's rescue – well, no, not really – and Brian nearly wets his pants.

****

Chapter 3: Sparks

Abby jostled aside some neanderthal in a smoky denim jacket and wedged one elbow onto the bar. She opened her bag and blindly felt around for her wallet, all the while trying to catch the eye of the bartender. Susan had volunteered to start a tab, but at the rate they were putting the drinks away, this was turning into a rather expensive evening. Abby thought the least she could do was pick up _one_ round. Even their spiffy bartender did _that _much. 

She got his attention by waving a couple of twenties and flashing a sleepy yet genuine smile.

"You all are hard core," he praised Abby. "'Nother round of the same?"

"Please," she nodded, placing the cash on the counter. 

He shook her off. "Put that away." He put both hands on the bar and leaned over toward her, as if to whisper a secret. Abby leaned in to hear him over the clamoring masses. "This round'll be on the house. Want to keep you ladies coming back, don't we?" He pushed off from the bar with a wink that was both cocky and cordial.

A flattered Abby vaguely wondered whether, if the bartender and Susan got married, their children would all be blond as well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Having finally made his way down the overrun bar, Brian slapped his friends on the back. 

"Glad you could make it," one of them said.

"Well, I owe you guys a round," Brian replied. "But next time, _I_ pick the bar. This is place just too fuckin' odd for me." 

He whipped out his Visa, trying to get the sole bartender to notice him, to no avail_. I can't believe they only have one guy working tonight_, he thought. Finally, the bartender started heading toward Brian's outstretched card. Suddenly, however, his head snapped back, caught by another request from the woman whose order he'd been taking.

"Wait! Can I also get a draft? Sam Adams if you have it."

The second that voice reached Brian's ears, his heart arrested. The blood in his veins seemed to retreat to a dark cavity in the core of his stomach, and everything turned cold. Even the music from the jukebox sounded as if it were traveling through black sheets of ice, reaching him in distorted waves of sound. In an instant that lasted an eon, he whirled his head to the left, fearful to see who he already knew to be there.

Abby. 

She was smaller than he'd remembered, standing by the bar, just two people separating them. Her head hung down as she angled to retrieve something from her bag. 

His head throbbed, his left eye winced. Happily, she hadn't noticed him. He finally willed himself to move, the blood sluggishly returning to his veins. Just as he moved his head to scan the rest of the crowd, however, one of his friends unintentionally bumped into his right hipbone. Brian, his balance askew, pitched to his left. Before he could right himself by grasping onto the counter, he knocked into Abby.

"Watch it, jagoff," she scolded, not raising her head.

Brian thanked God for small miracles and attempted to push against the current of people toward the exit. He backed away from Abby, imperceptibly inching toward the safety of the exit.

He surveyed the establishment during his retreat and abruptly spied a table of people who looked familiar. He brimmed with dread as he glimpsed the brute who had battered and beaten him. The man was grinning and chatting with a blonde, unaware of Brian's presence. By this time, as the seconds stretched out endlessly, Brian was separated from Abby by a good three feet but was still a distressing distance from the security of the awaiting anonymous city night. He continued to withdraw, his vision locked on his former attacker.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

"So you were MacBeth, too?" Susan was impressed. "I never ran with the theater crowd at college. Too flaky for my tastes."

"Well, I didn't take it _that_ seriously." Luka clarified. "But it was a nice diversion."

He could see he made Susan slightly uncomfortable with that last remark. Americans never knew how to react to his comments about Croatia. They didn't understand that, for all the pain it held for him, it would always be his home. He revered his days there, unwilling to forget the juxtaposition between the frivolity of life and the anguish of loss that his country possessed.

Eager to put Susan at ease, he pondered out loud, "I wonder how Abby's managing with our drinks."

He revolved in his seat, his arm hanging over the back of his chair as he observed the bar below. He spotted Abby, who was casually putting a cigarette to her lips and opening a book of matches. Satisfied that she'd be back with their drinks in no time, he peered toward the door, wondering if Michelle had arrived yet . . . 

. . . and he found himself staring right at Brian. Just a little over an arm's length away from Abby.

Storm clouds pooled in his eyes; his face darkened with rage. He couldn't stem the tide of wrath submerging him as his body involuntarily rose from its seat. Brian had been staring directly at him, and his eyes now widened with terror, knowing that Luka had detected him.

Luka took quick strides down the steps toward the bar, heedless of Jing-Mei and Susan, who – taken aback by his unanticipated change in demeanor – asked where he was going. He carelessly shoved people out of his path, impelled toward Brian by crushing waves of fury and sadness.

Brian turned bloodless with panic, recklessly shouldering his way to the door. As Luka drew nearer, Brian started yelling in desperation: "I didn't touch her, man! I didn't know she was here! I'm just here with friends, I swear it!"

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Abby's flickering match, once mere millimeters from the end of her still unlit cigarette, floated down to the floor, where it extinguished in a quiet hiss. Her hands froze as her ears took in the scared pleas that originated just to her right. She didn't want to look up from the bar. Her muscles tensed. Attempting to convince herself that it was not Brian standing near her, she mustered the courage to look up.

She saw Brian, nothing else – her gaze was locked upon him in a tractor beam of fright. Her own blood whooshed in her ears, undercut with the pulsation of her heart. She was unable to breathe, drowning in the undiscerning protection of the crowd, all of them oblivious to the woman sinking in their midst.

Eventually she noticed that, rather than coming toward her, Brian was futilely pressing his way to the exit, looking somewhere behind her to the right in abject terror. Keeping her eyes on him, she slowly turned her head further to the right in order to see the cause of his alarm. As she reluctantly shifted her eyes away from him, she saw Luka's head above everyone else's. He was using his powerful arms to swim through the mass of people, treading closer to Brian every second. Abby watched the muted commotion as if it were unfolding on her television screen – this couldn't possibly be her life.

By now, Brian could feel the dank air of freedom filling his lungs. Desiring to pacify the incensed man who was almost upon him, and not caring if the entire bar heard him, he implored for mercy one last time, surprising himself at the spinelessness of his entreaties: "Don't hit me again, man, just don't hit me. I didn't know she was here, I swear. Just don't hit me!" As he passed through the doorway, he turned and sprinted into the darkness, heedless of his course.

Luka stopped at the exit and watched the scurrying figure vanish into the gloom. Satisfied that Brian was not returning, he turned around and caught Abby's unreadable gaze. Her graceful innocence, her every air, her smallest movement over-awed his malice, and his anger drained away. She must have heard what Brian had said. What was that he saw in her eyes? Fear? Contempt? Relief? He took a step toward her.

"Abby. . ."

She was shocked by her own ability to speak. "I . . . I can't talk to you right now." She briskly walked past him, following the path through the crowd that the now-long-gone Brian had taken.

Luka moved to follow her, but a familiar figure stepped in front of him, delaying his chase.

"Hi! Sorry I'm so late." Michelle apologized, looking at her watch. 

Over her head, a distraught Luka watched Abby leave.

"Luka?" Michelle asked, concerned by his worrisome appearance.

He snapped his head down to look at her beautiful face. The lie appeared in his brain instantaneously: "Michelle, I'm sorry, but I just got paged. Some big emergency." As the excuses fell from his lips, pangs of guilt swarmed in his chest, but he felt he had no choice. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, exiting the bar and leaving her behind. "How about a raincoat?" he called out over his shoulder, not waiting to hear her response.

"It's 'raincheck.'" she muttered dejectedly, watching him go.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

With his long legs pumping, Luka knew he could catch up to Abby. She had been walking in the direction of the nearest El stop, just one block up. As he neared the station, he saw her tiny figure climbing the stairs to the platform. 

"Abby!" His voice carved through the midnight breeze, but if she heard him, she did not react. 

He dashed up the stairs toward the awaiting train, but the doors closed in front of him just as he arrived on the platform. He peered through one of the windows and saw her. Her arms hugging her bag to her chest, she stared down at the floor, unblinking. 

"Abby!" 

She snapped out of her trance, turning to look at him through the dungy glass. Their eyes connected as the train slowly pulled out of the station, taking her further away into the sea of shadows.

He watched the train noisily roll down the tracks. He knew this train line included the stop near her apartment. Already forgetting about the unused fare he'd just wasted, he hustled back down to the street, found his car, and sped away.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Jing-Mei's head rested on the table against the crook of her right arm, her left arm extended flat toward Susan and the two empty chairs. "I'm thirsty!"

"Where the hell are our drinks?" Susan called out.

Jing-Mei once again stood up on her chair to scan the atmosphere below.

"I don't see Abby."

"How 'bout Luka?" Susan offered. "He's easier to find in a crowd."

"I don't see Luka, either."

Jing-Mei stood noiseless at the watch, letting the import of her words reverberate in her head. She looked down at Susan, whose own face was a mesh of consternation and confusion. Jing-Mei clumsily sat, her brow furrowed in thought. The two women looked at each other, each hoping the other held an answer to the unasked questions they were both posing.

Finally, Jing-Mei shattered the silence. "You know her better than I do."

"Abby's fun-loving, but she's not _that_ fun-loving."

"How long have she and Carter been dating?"

"A few weeks."

"And how long was she with Luka? About a year?"  


"Well, I was in Phoenix then, but yeah, I guess that sounds right."

Jing-Mei stared at Susan, waiting for her to reach the same lugubrious conclusion. "So a backslide isn't totally out of the question. . ."

"No, Abby wouldn't do that to Carter," Susan tried to convince Jing-Mei as well as herself. "She's crazy about him."

"I'm sure you're right. Still. . ."

Susan completed Jing-Mei's unfinished sentence in her head, both women despondent for the sake of Carter.

"Well," Susan settled the discussion, "let's just keep this to ourselves, OK? No one at work needs to know."

"Of course." Jing-Mei nodded. "I'm sure there's nothing _to_ know, anyway."

They remained seated for several minutes, immobile, pensive, and – surprisingly and unfortunately – sober in their bewilderment.

END NOTES: The chapter title comes from Coldplay's "Sparks," the lyrics of which inspired this entire fanfic in my head months ago: "_I promise you this,/I'll always look out for you./Yeah, that's what I'll do./My heart is yours./It's you that I hold on to./That's what I do./I know I was wrong./I won't let you down . . ._" The harmless flirtation of the bartender was of course "borrowed" from Neee-cole (hurl! retch!) in "The Longer You Stay." Finally, the way-too-poetic sentence that begins "Her graceful innocence ..." is obviously not my creation – it's a paraphrase from Milton's "Paradise Lost."


	4. Watching the Lights Go Down

TITLE: A Mouthful of Air

  
AUTHOR: JD

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Luka and Abby _actually_ have a – gasp! – conversation.

****

Chapter 4: Watching the Lights Go Down

The glimmering landscape faded on the sight, and all the air held a solemn stillness. The entire city was shutting down, and Abby with it.

She could recall seeing Luka standing on the platform, his mournful eyes searching hers for . . . anything, any sign of life. She didn't remember what she had said to him at the bar, right before she stormed out. She had already forgotten about stranding Susan and Chen at their table – she wasn't thinking of them. She wasn't thinking of anything right now. No thoughts at all. Only feelings consumed her, wrapping her up in their confusion and smothering her. Each fighting for prominence in her heart, but none was the victor. 

Rocking herself to the rhythm of the train, Abby didn't know what she was feeling.

Fear. An insurmountable fear. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she would not let them escape. That man had stolen her confidence, her security. He was a ghost in her soul that would never be fully exorcised. She could never forget the sound of a latch breaking, of bone crunching bone, of a screeching kettle calling unheeded for help. 

An acrid sensation came to the back of her throat as her ire grew – Brian was supposed to be in _Idaho_, for God's sake. He wasn't supposed to be in the same _state_, let alone the same fucking town. Bitterly, she came to the cynical conclusion that her landlord had lied to her. He had no idea where Brian moved and didn't care – he was just eager not to lose a faithful, paying tenant and had made up the whole damn thing. So here she'd been, happily ignorant of the peril lurking right under her nose, going about her merry little life.

Until tonight. Until her ignorance was shattered, split into irretrievable pieces. It was hearing his voice, not actually laying eyes upon him, that she would be carrying into her nightmares tonight. The pitch and tenor had scarred her ears, and she couldn't undo the damage. It didn't even matter that, when he had spoken tonight, it had been with a dimension of terror she'd never heard in his words before.

But it was that tinge of fear that kept intriguing her, kept pulling her thoughts away from that winter night she had hoped to bury in a remote segment of her mind. Brian had been petrified. The second she realized that Luka was the author of Brian's fright, she could almost envision Luka pummeling him. _How had he done it?_ she wondered. Did he go to her apartment, just knocking on random doors until Brian appeared? Did he station himself outside of her building, waiting like a vengeful sentry? Or, even more perplexing, did he scour the subterranean recesses of the city, looking for a needle in a haystack? And then, once he'd found Brian, how did he mount the attack? Were any words exchanged? Did Brian even know _why_ this stranger was thrashing him? Did he grasp Brian's shoulders and beat his head against the hard ground? It was the only way she could picture the scene, Brian's face in the place of the mugger's.

When she finally injected herself into those scenarios, remembering that her attack was the impetus for Luka's actions, she didn't know _what_ it was she felt.

On the one hand, she was mad at Luka: this was not like their mugging. She had been attacked already, alone in her apartment. By the time Luka got to Brian, she was safe at County. And she had more than a well-placed suspicion that Brian's black-and-blue condition influenced the state's attorney's decision not to prosecute him.

On the other hand, she felt vindicated that Brian got what was coming to him. She wondered if he cried when Luka had hit him, if he begged for his life, or if – like the mugger – he wasn't able to get any words out during the attack. She tried to recall whether Luka had any marks on him in the days following her assault. The fact that she didn't remember seeing any scrapes or scratches indicated to her that Luka was unscathed. She morbidly wondered whether Brian even got off a single punch. She doubted it.

On the other hand (_Jesus, I must be drunk_ – _how many fucking hands does one person have?_ she thought), she felt a stitch of sadness for Luka. She remembered how awful he had felt after killing the anonymous mugger. He completely withdrew from her, furious with his own lack of control. But she convinced herself that he probably did not hate himself after beating up Brian, like he did after their first date. He had been downright peppy (_A peppy Luka? Now that's a rarity_, she laughed ruefully within the confines of her own head) in the days following her attack. Now that she thought about it, he had seemed rather pleased with himself in an undefined way back in those days, joking with her at work – practically flirting with her, in fact.

Abby's muted lighthearted reminiscing ebbed as it occurred to her that he'd committed such a heart-wrenching act of desperation and had kept it to himself all this time. The distance between them, despite the outward overtures he'd made to her, made her feel so alone and isolated. The fact that Luka could commit such an act of love and anger and not let anyone in on it . . . his bleak detachment made her feel as though one of them was standing on the precipice of an abyss, staring down at the other in obscured darkness. Only she wasn't sure who was looking up and who was peering down.

She pulled at her flimsy jacket, despite the warm night air and the stuffiness of the train car, because she couldn't stop shivering.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After what seemed like an eternity, the train reached her stop. In a daze, she stumbled home to her apartment, oblivious to the aggressive panhandlers and bickering couples that were scattered along her route. She didn't even notice the tall shadowy figure leaning against the car parked directly in front of her building until he stepped away from his vehicle and into her path. Startled, she looked up. She regained her composure once she realized who it was, replacing her temporary shock with her usual stony facade.

She tried to walk past him. "Luka, I don't want . . ."

"You don't have to talk," he interrupted her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from escaping. He tried to look in her tired eyes, but she avoided his stare. "Once, a long time ago, you told me you wanted me to talk to you, but I shut you out. Now I want to talk." He sighed, wondering if she would accept his request. "Abby, I just want you to listen, OK?"

She stared at his chest, which loomed in front of her eyes. She didn't want to look at his face directly, as if he were some kind of earthbound eclipse and his glare would blind her forever.

"Come on," she relented. He removed his hand and allowed her to make her way up the steps to her apartment, following at a respectable distance.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked as she tossed her keys on a small table by her door. 

"Only if you're having something." He stood frozen with his back to her door, not entirely comfortable with his impetuous decision to show up unannounced at her place.

Abby went to her kitchen and came back with two bottles of beer. She extended one to Luka, and he took it gratefully. She walked around to the front of her couch and flopped down at one end. 

"Have a seat," she mumbled, her hair falling down around her hanging head.

Luka settled at the other end of the couch, downing a gulp of beer. Even though Abby seemed less than receptive to his being there, he began to speak the words that had been tearing through his mind for the past half hour.

"Abby . . . When I . . . When you . . ." This was going to be harder than he thought. "Govnarija," he muttered to himself. He knew precisely what he wanted to say, but the English rendition just lacked the gravity and exactitude of his Croatian explanation.

"What?" Abby's curtness masked her concern. She'd never known Luka to be at a loss for words. Unwilling to speak, yes, but never unable.

He eventually found the starting point for his thoughts and leaped off, hoping his errant memories would make sense once they were vocalized. "Our first date, down by the water. All of a sudden I was knocked out, and when I came to, you were being attacked. At first, I was trying to protect you. But then – I don't know when it happened exactly – I was on fire with rage. My mind, it . . ." _What was the word he wanted to use_? " . . . swirled with images of my children, of my friends, of my family, of my . . . of Danjiela."

At that last whispered word, Abby raised her eyes to him, but he was looking off across the room, reliving that night in his head. She returned her gaze to the dusty floorboards, allowing him to continue.

"All I could think of was them. That's why I didn't even hear you yelling for me to stop. You see," he focused his eyes on her, hoping what he had to say wouldn't hurt her, "you weren't there anymore. It was just me and them and the attacker."

His mouth was parched after such an exhausting confession, so he grabbed his drink and took a swig. After replacing it on the coffee table, he went on.

"But that night, when you came into the ER . . . You were the only one there. All I could think about was you." He considered telling her how she looked to him when the paramedics brought her in, but then decided she probably didn't need to reminisce about the details, and so he simply explained: "The sight of you, it crushed my soul."

Abby stared down at the beer she now held in her hands, praying Luka couldn't see the tears clinging to her cheeks. _It crushed more than my soul_, she thought.

In a cursory fashion, Luka related the rest of the evening: "I told Susan I needed to go home and unpack, but I went to that bar you said he liked to go to. He was there when I got there. The whole time, all I could picture was you."

He cleared his throat, took another sip of beer. Abby was catching her breath, suppressing the remaining tears she wanted to cry.

"When I . . ." The word "murdered" came to Luka's mind, but he shoved it down. ". . . hurt that mugger, I did it for me. But when I went after Brian, I did it for you."

Abby was on the verge of saying "I never asked you to" when the coldness and finality of that phrase occurred to her. She didn't want to feel cold anymore.

Luka shrugged, having said all he needed to say. "Well, that's all I wanted to explain. Thank you for hearing me. I'll go now."

He drained his beer, wiped his palms on his pants, and tried in vain to read Abby's expression. Giving up, he stood.

"Wait," she said, finally looking at him. "Why didn't you tell me all this before?"

Luka remained motionless, perplexed. Before tonight, it had never really occurred to him to tell her what he'd done. "Why would I have told you?"

"Well," she continued haltingly, "you said you did it for me. But you didn't tell me."

Luka returned to his place on the couch, fathoming a response. "I guess I didn't want you to think that I thought you owed me something, that I expected something in return. It was just something that had to be done."

Abby mulled that over while she helped herself to her drink. "I do owe you something." She placed her beer on the coffee table next to Luka's now-empty bottle. She willed herself to look him in the eyes. "I owe you thanks."

Luka appeared stunned, his eyebrows raised. Abby could see he'd misunderstood. "No, not for Brian. For everything else after that. For letting me stay with you, for helping me move back in . . ." She smiled slightly. "For being an impromptu handyman."

Luka, taken aback by her sweetness, managed to keep himself from dropping his jaw. Instead, he turned his head to look at the cornucopia of latches and locks on her door.

"Not bad, eh?" He gave a barely perceptible wink. "Maybe I should quit this whole doctor thing and become a carpenter."

"Luka the carpenter." Abby tried to visualize that. "Hmmm. I'm not convinced. Maybe if you built me some bookshelves, or refaced my kitchen cabinets . . ."

Luka grinned broadly and wagged his finger at her. "Oh no. Nice try."

They sat quietly for a few moments, both feeling calmer and more at ease.

Abby forced herself to pierce the comfortable silence. "I'm glad you ran into us tonight." She paused, remembering why he'd been at the bar to begin with. "Oh, but I'm sorry Michelle never made it."

She truly looked sympathetic, and Luka didn't feel like telling her the whole story. "Hmmm? Oh, right." Honestly, he hadn't even thought about Michelle since the second he ran out of the bar. He'd have to take her to a nice restaurant soon to make it up to her, he decided.

"Well, I'm glad you made it out," Abby went on. She hesitated, not sure that she wanted to bring up the subject that had been present in her mind for the past week or so. "I . . . I was beginning to think . . . you were avoiding me . . . at work." _Jesus, why did I say that_? Abby vowed never to open her mouth again, and she couldn't look Luka in the eye.

Luka obviously thought there was merit to that statement, however, because he responded. "Well, I know you're with Car. . . with John now, and I don't want to get in the way of that."

Abby, stunned by his answer, replied, "You wouldn't be in the way. We'd just be talking – like we are now."

Luka smiled uncomfortably. "I just know that, when we were together, I was . . ." _Say it, Luka_, he goaded himself, "I was jealous of the amount of time you spent talking to Carter." He laughed quietly at the absurdity of his confession.

While it seemed a meaningless trifle to him, though, Abby gawked. She crossed her arms over her chest. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she said, "You never _acted_ jealous!"

He thought back to the waning days of their relationship. "I guess I didn't want you to think I was too possessive. You _should_ have friends you can talk to." He lowered his chin to his chest and let loose a rueful grin. "It's not like we were very good in _that_ department, anyway."

Abby smiled despite herself. "Uh, no. Conversation was never one of our strong suits."

Luka looked at his watch. It was nearly 1:30 in the morning. He wasn't sure if Abby was on tomorrow, but his shift started at 7 that morning. "I probably should be going. Are you going to be OK?"

"I'll be OK."

"I mean, are you going to be able to get to sleep?"

Abby's expression was undecipherable, and her smile had faded.

"I'm fine, Luka."

Luka kept staring at her, uncertain. _I'm fine. I'm OK_. She was like a reverse hypochondriac, always trying to avoid the sympathy and attention that most people craved. Ordinarily, he would have believed her, or at least given her the benefit of the doubt. But tonight, he felt emboldened to call her bluff.

"Look, why don't I just stay here until you fall asleep? I can hang out on the couch and watch TV. Once you're asleep, I'll go home."

Abby looked at him weirdly. "Really, Luka, I appreciate the offer, but you don't have to do that. I'll be fine, really," she protested.

"I know I don't have to. And you'd never ask me to stay. Please. _I_ would feel better, after everything that's happened tonight. I'll be fine out here, I won't disturb you at all. Give me a spare key so I can lock the deadbolt when I leave. I'll give it back to you at work next time I see you."

He wasn't leaving her much room to object. Abby hated to admit it, but she was still fairly shaken up from this evening's encounter. It still disturbed her to think that Brian had been in Chicago this whole time. _Thank God it's a big city_, she thought.

Abby looked from Luka to her bedroom door. _Well_, she thought, _it wouldn't be the first time one of us has literally slept over._

"OK," she finally said in a very businesslike manner. "Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I can't vouch for anything's expiration date, taste, or suitability for human consumption."

Luka chuckled. "That's OK. I'll probably just grab another beer and watch TV."

Abby walked to the kitchen and took a beer out of the fridge. She then opened a kitchen drawer and fished out a spare deadbolt key. She stepped into the living room and handed both to Luka. "Sorry I don't have cable . . . or Playstation."

He grinned. "That's OK. I'm too wiped out for zombies tonight." _There are enough real dangers in the world_, his mind appended.

Abby seemed to be thinking the same thing, for she suddenly looked drained. "Goodnight, Luka," she said and retreated into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Goodnight," he called after her. He twisted the cap off his beer and settled in, hoping there'd be something remotely interesting on the TV at this late hour.

END NOTES: The chapter title comes from Bush's "Letting the Cables Sleep," which was hauntingly magnificent in "Such Sweet Sorrow" and includes the lines: "You in the dark, you in the pain, you on the run. Living a hell, living your ghost, living your end. . . . You in the sea, on a decline, breaking the waves." (more drowning metaphors with which to beat my readers over the head – yay!) First line of the chapter is a paraphrase of the poetry of Mr. Thomas Gray. "You don't have to talk" is clearly lifted from the uber-angsty, dysfunctional-relationship-commencing "Flight of Fancy." And Abby's "fines" and "OKs" are shades of Scully. Thanks to Em for the laundry list of Croatian swears, one of which is used herein [_govnarija_ = shit]


	5. Ignorance, No Bliss

TITLE: A Mouthful of Air

AUTHOR: JD

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Unfortunate timing, erroneous conclusions, and Susan repeatedly taking the Lord's name in vain.

****

Chapter 5: Ignorance, No Bliss

The ring of the phone broke Abby's nightmare-strewn slumber. She blindly felt for the handset on her nightstand, refusing to open her eyes. After knocking some pens and a necklace to the floor, she finally found the phone and clicked it on, her startled heart beating loudly in her ears.

"Hello?" she croaked.

"Hey, did I wake you?"  


"John? What time is it?"

"Around five-thirty." There was a pause on his end. "Last night you told me to call you when I got off? So we could have breakfast together? Any of this ringing a bell?"

__

Shit, Abby thought, rubbing her still-closed eyes with her right hand. She'd completely forgotten. About an hour before her shift ended last night, they'd agreed he would come over in the morning. This was _before_ she had decided to go out with Susan and Chen. Before she got drunk. Before she saw Brian. Before . . . 

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, I guess I . . . didn't hear my alarm go off."

"Can I still come over?"

"Yes. Of course."

"All right. I'm at Doc's right now picking up some donuts. Boston Cream for you?"

"Great. See you soon."

"Bye."

She clicked off the phone and managed to sit up in bed, taking a self-inventory. She wasn't too hung-over – just a little dehydrated. Her tongue was Sahara-dry, and it had taken way too much energy to talk to Carter just now. It wouldn't take him long at all to get to her place. She'd have just enough time to put on some coffee, take a quick shower, and brush last night's overly clingy alcohol out of her mouth.

She toddled off to the kitchen, eyes now only half-closed. _Well, that's progress_, she thought. _By the time Carter gets here, I'll be able to open them completely_.

She never made it past the living room. _Fuck_.

There he was, haphazardly lying across her couch, his long legs dangling over one armrest, deep in sleep.

She would've laughed at the sight of his oversize body attempting to rest peacefully on her couch had she not desperately wanted him out of there that instant. The TV was still on, but the volume on the set was turned way down. She could barely hear the local news anchors getting Chicago ready for another day.

She moved around the couch till she was standing right next to his head. "Luka."

He mumbled a response but didn't open his eyes.

She tried again, this time a bit more forcefully. "Luka!"

His head jerked and his eyes flew open. He seemed perplexed at first, unable to figure out where he was. When he looked up and saw Abby standing over him in her black tank top and gray pajama bottoms, the events of last evening wandered into the fore of his mind.

"Did I fall asleep?" _Stupid question_, he thought. "What time is it?" he asked her as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

"About a quarter to six."

"Oh, great," he groaned. "I have to be at work in about an hour."

"I didn't know you had to work this morning," Abby furrowed her brow. "I figured since you had a date last night, you were off today. I would've made you go home last night if I'd known."

He swung his legs to the floor and satisfyingly scratched his head with both hands, trying to become more alert. "It's not a big deal. I'll be fine once I shower and get some coffee in me."

__

Oh please God don't let him ask to shower and have coffee here, she panicked momentarily.

But Luka made no such requests. Instead, he stood and stretched, now fully awake. He looked down at Abby, not picking up on the impatience brewing within her.

"I hope this doesn't sound too weird," he said, "but I had a nice time last night."

"Not too weird, no," she replied. "I think I know what you mean."

As frantically as she wanted to kick him out the door before Carter arrived, she needed to say more. "Thanks, Luka. For . . ." She quietly laughed as she couldn't find the words. He smiled at her, reading her thoughts as best he could. "Just thanks," she finished.

For a second he thought about giving her a hug goodbye, but then reconsidered. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea, or make her feel uncomfortable. He was terrified of ruining whatever it was – he wasn't quite sure, exactly – he and Abby now shared. She watched him walk out of her apartment and quietly close the door behind himself in the pre-dawn morning. After scooping up the few empty beer bottles on the coffee table and throwing them in the trash, she started to brew some coffee for her and Carter.

During the coffee prep, she turned to look at the television. It seemed the meteorologist was proudly telling folks that a large storm that had been predicted to hit Chicago later that day had been diverted, as if he himself had changed the weather patterns. She took hold of the remote and turned up the volume slightly.

" . . . looks like we'll just be getting some rain. But it appears that nasty storm will avoid us completely, so consider yourselves lucky."

__

You don't know the half of it, Abby thought.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Carter blasted the music on his Jeep's CD player, needing to stay awake for just a few more hours. He would definitely sleep a good seven hours during the afternoon because his next shift started at 10 that night. But he wanted to enjoy his morning with Abby before he had to succumb to the Draculian sleeping habits required by his schedule.

On his speakers, Shirley Manson was singing something about being overworked but undersexed. Well, he was definitely the former, but no longer the latter, thank God. But there was more to his happiness than just that – he was with _Abby_. Even though it had been weeks since their first kiss, he still couldn't comfortably wrap his mind around that notion. After two years of being intrigued by this woman, and more than a year of – he wasn't ashamed to admit it – being unabashedly in love with her, he had finally gotten everything he wanted. Having his wishes fulfilled was something he was used to only with respect to physical, tangible things: nice clothes, or a fancy car. He wasn't used to getting what he wanted when people entered the picture. He was never sure where he stood with his mother – she withheld so much from him, even when he was only a boy and needed unconditional affection as all children do. He honestly had thought things would work out between him and Anna, but she left Chicago to try to salvage what remained from her former life. 

Now he was finally in a relationship with Abby. Someone he loved. Someone he trusted. Someone whose every mannerism and movement still captivated him after all this time. And he wasn't operating under any misconceptions; he knew she wasn't perfect. But she was perfect for him.

He made the drive over to her building in no time at all, thanks to the deserted, still-dark streets. As he approached her block, though, it dawned on him that he'd never find a spot close to her building at this time of the morning – no one had left for work yet. He watched the light turn from red to green, then slowly proceeded down her block, hoping against hope to find a spot nearby. As his luck would have it, on the opposite side of the street where Abby's apartment was, someone was jogging down the front steps of her building and heading toward a car right in front. _Excellent_, Carter thought. He put his hazard lights on and idled, figuring once the car drove off, he'd pull a quick U-turn and back right into the empty spot.

He stared at the man getting into the car. The man who'd just left Abby's building. At 5:51 in the morning. His body suddenly went numb, except for a constricting agony in his head, right behind his eyes.

__

It can't be.

Carter couldn't think straight, and breathing had become a chore. He was completely immobile. He didn't even notice that when Luka drove away, a Camry came out of nowhere and took the spot in front of the building.

It was another ten minutes before Carter could find a parking space.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He knocked on her door. When she opened it, every detail assaulted his eyes. She was wearing her robe, her hair wet. She kissed him hello, but he didn't even feel it. Instead he strode into her apartment, peering through her open bedroom door. The bed had been made. _Yeah, but that doesn't tell me anything_, he thought, frustrated by his inability to think clearly.

"I'm making coffee. Would you like some?" she asked. 

"Um, OK." He followed her into the kitchen.

"I'll get you a plate to put those on."

"Huh?" He asked absentmindedly.

She looked at him with a smile and indicated the bag he was holding in his right hand. The doughnuts from Doc's. He'd forgotten he'd been holding them. He couldn't even remember taking them out of the Jeep.

She pulled a plate down from a cabinet and left it on the countertop, then went about pouring them some coffee. Carter, astonished that he could still manage even simple tasks in his state of shock, took the few doughnuts out of the bag and placed them on the plate. He crumpled up the bag and tossed it in the trash. What he saw under the paper bag would have made him feel even sicker if that were possible. Beer bottles. Undoubtedly from last night, he figured. His mind raced with inappropriate thoughts.

Without looking directly at her, he asked, "So, what'd you do after your shift last night?"

"I went out with Susan."

"Oh? Where'd you go?"

Abby paused, then picked up the coffee mugs and held one out for Carter. She knew he'd be mad, but she didn't want to lie to him.

"We went back to the Lava Lounge."

She braced herself for an onslaught of AA advice, or at least some well-intended admonishments.

"You have a good time?" Carter asked, taking the mug from her. He briefly considered talking to her about her drinking, which seemed to be getting only worse, not better. _Screw it, that's the least of my concerns right now_. It was a self-indulgent rationalization, he knew, but he couldn't help himself just now.

Abby hesitated. That wasn't the question she'd been prepared for. She considered telling him about Brian, but she didn't want to worry him. Besides, she felt much more at ease this morning than she had last night – no need to rehash last night's dramatics.

"It was OK," she replied, still on her guard for the alcoholism lecture that was sure to follow. But none came.

"Mmmhmmm," he said. She was dumbfounded by his apparent indifference to her drinking.

"Listen," he continued, "I forgot that my dad's in town for a couple of days, and I promised him I'd see him during my off-hours. So I really have to go." He hated to lie to her. It didn't feel right, which was probably why he'd never done it before. But he needed to be alone to think, and he couldn't conceive of any other way to escape.

"OK," she said, confused.

At her door, he handed back the untouched cup of coffee and out of habit kissed her briefly on the lips. He closed the door behind himself and bolted out of her building, leaving her bewildered and oddly anxious, but she didn't know why.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Carter trudged into the lounge, his head down.

"You look like shit," Susan said. She'd been sitting at the table, finishing up a cup of soup.

Normally, Carter would've had something snappy – or even snippy – to say in reply, but he just grunted incoherently. He was _supposed_ to have enjoyed a great morning with Abby. The prospect of donuts, coffee, and sex – not in that order – were all that had gotten him through the previous night's shift. Didn't happen. He was _supposed_ to have slept comfortably in his big bed that afternoon, pleasantly exhausted from his morning with Abby. Didn't happen.

So here he was, baffled, angry, sleep-deprived, and expected to work a ten-hour shift. Obviously, joking around with Susan about his rather shoddy, fatigued appearance was not something he was going to delight in.

As he opened his locker, he launched into his cross-examination of the witness. "So . . . . You and Abby went out again last night?"

"Yeah, she's really fun."

"Yeah, yeah, she is." Carter smiled peculiarly into his locker. "Just the two of you?"

"No, Chen came with us."

"Huh." Carter slammed his locker door and faced Susan, staring intently into her eyes. "So just you, Deb and Abby – a girls' night out?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised we hadn't done it before."

"No one else with you?"

Susan was starting to find Carter's tone disconcerting, and she wondered how much he knew. He was definitely acting bizarre.

"Well," she began slowly, "there were some people at the bar we knew . . ."

"You mean Luka," he cut her off.

Susan turned serious, recollecting the discussion she and Chen shared at the Lava Lounge. "Abby told you we saw him?"

"No, but I figured."

"What do you mean?"

Carter deliberated on how much to tell her, finally deciding to throw it all at her feet. "Luka left Abby's place around six this morning."

"_What?_"

She seemed stunned, but Carter wasn't ready to buy it completely. He walked toward her and sat astride a chair at the table, his face mere inches away from hers. "Oh, he just _happened_ to run into Abby last night?"

Susan, slowly recovering from the shock, tried to rationalize with him. "Carter, I'm sure it's nothing. He was meeting another woman at the bar, for Christ's sake."

Carter just rolled his eyes.

"What did Abby say about it?" Susan asked.

"Nothing," he said firmly. "Luka was leaving right as I pulled up. She doesn't know I know. I didn't ask her, and she didn't say anything."

"Well, that doesn't mean something happened," Susan defended. "When I spent the night at Mark's, _I_ wasn't going to tell _you_ about it."

At the mention of Mark's name, Carter forgot his own calamity for just a fleeting instant. "But that's because he was sick, and he wanted it to be a secret. If you had told me on your own that you'd stayed with him, you would've _had_ to have told me why – and he wouldn't have wanted me to find out that way."

"Well, maybe Abby and Luka had an important and _completely_ _non-romantic_ issue they had to discuss."

He stared at her with disbelieving eyes, as if she had just said the stupidest thing in the history of human speech.

"Hey," Susan continued, "nothing happened between me and Mark. I'm sure nothing happened between Abby and Luka."

"But you and Mark never dated. You were always just friends. Luka and Abby practically lived together."

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Susan nearly exploded. "_Now_ you act all reasonable about me and Mark, now that it suits your purposes and you can play devil's advocate."

She took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure. "Look, Carter, just _talk_ to her. I'm sure there's a good explanation, and I'm sure it's nothing worth getting worked up about."

She freed herself from his gaze and looked at the clock on the wall. "You'd better start your shift before Weaver comes in here and has a paroxysm."

Carter said nothing in response to Susan's attempt to change the subject. He stood, flung open the lounge door, and stormed toward the admit desk – feeling nothing but exasperation at the unfairness of his life.

END NOTES: The song Carter listens to in his Jeep is "Hammering In My Head" by Garbage. And it took every shred of decency I had to keep my Id in check and NOT include the following sentence in this chapter: "Carter felt as though Abby had stabbed him in the back . . . with a large butcher knife, as 'Battleflag' played over and over again in the background."


	6. The Trick Is to Keep Breathing

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to C. Midori for the feedback, psych profiles and encouragement. Thanks to Heather for posting this at the Lounge.

SUMMARY: What Abby did with her day after Carter's hasty retreat . . . and the dreaded conversation.

****

Chapter 6: The Trick Is to Keep Breathing

Abby had an incredibly productive morning after Carter left, considering the fact that her stomach had been clenched uncomfortably for hours on end. She did her laundry, swept her apartment floors, balanced her checkbook – all before noon. Then, desperate for tasks to distract her from a hovering sense of foreboding, she organized her CDs, according to whether they were hers outright or whether she had "borrowed" them from Richard. Standing back and admiring the two piles, she was gratified to see that the Richard pile was bigger.

__

OK, she thought, _NOW what do I do_?

Although Carter had given her no overt reason to think he was mad at her, she couldn't stop thinking about how distant he'd seemed this morning. Reconstructing their brief conversation in her head, she kept coming back to her drinking. That had to be it, she thought. Carter had listened to her, advised her, even chided her and manhandled her in an effort to get her to stop drinking again. Abby reached the conclusion that he'd finally deserted the cause, unwilling to tax himself any longer for her benefit.

__

That must be why Carter seemed aloof, she reasoned. _I've blown off his advice one too many times and now he's given up on me._

The thought deflated her, and she sunk down in her couch. She had vacillated so often between desperately craving Carter's approval and callously testing his limits, calculating just how far she could push him, to see how much he really loved her.

She could now see she'd pushed too hard with her drinking. She wanted to cross back to the happy side of the line. She decided that she would go to a meeting today – she knew there was one nearby at two o'clock. That way, she'd have that under her belt as a kind of peace offering the next time she saw him. She guessed that would be early tomorrow morning, when her shift started and his would be close to wrapping up. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gone to a meeting for him. And the hope that it might melt some of the tension she'd felt emanating from Carter was the best reason she could think of for going to a meeting.

Now she had only two hours to kill before the meeting. She stood with renewed determination, hands on her hips, and looked around her apartment. The fridge caught her eye, offering up a distinct challenge. Abby spent the better part of the next hour throwing away any item that appearing to be hosting a moldy lifeform and sanitizing the shelves with enough Lysol to kill every germ at County.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Night still hung in the sky when Abby's alarm went off at five the next morning. She punched the alarm quiet, and shifted under her comforter. A cold front had accompanied last night's rain – the weatherman had been correct, and the big storm veered north of Chicago and had instead pummeled the holy hell out of Milwaukee before dying over Lake Michigan.

Abby padded around her chilly apartment, getting ready for work. She knew Carter would be on until eight this morning. The fact that he didn't call her at all yesterday made her uneasy – he must've been madder about her drinking than she'd first guessed. Hopefully, though, once he found out she'd been to an AA meeting yesterday, things would be normal again between them. 

Abby didn't relish the notion of bringing up her drinking with Carter, but she knew she'd have to broach the topic in order to set things right. 

Briefly fostering a hope that telepathy would work instead, mooting the need for the conversation to come, Abby headed to work in the stiff, cool darkness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A three-car MVA had everyone unimaginably busy all morning at County. By the time Abby finally could get a word in with Carter, his shift was over. Had it not been for the endless stream of accident victims, she would've thought he'd been avoiding her.

As he strode down the hallway toward the exit, she snuck up behind him, grabbing him by the waistband of his khakis. He slingshotted back toward Abby, turning to look at her. The smile on her face wasn't mirrored on his.

"Hey stranger," she grinned. "Haven't seen you around this morning."

"It's been busy," he said without any inflection.

This was going to be more difficult than she'd anticipated. She tried to compensate for his dark mood by speaking even more frenetically and smiling broader.

"Do you want to get a coffee?"

"Abby, I'm really wiped out."

She wanted so much to take the exit he was unknowingly offering to her, but she steeled herself.

"Actually, I was hoping we could talk."

He peered in her eyes for a moment, and she could tell he was truly conflicted about her simple request. Finally, he relented. "OK, let's talk."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Down by the river, Abby and Carter sat on their bench, sipping weak coffee from paper cups.

"Well?" Carter broke the silence. "You wanted to talk," he prompted.

Abby grew slightly defensive. "Sorry, but this isn't easy for me."

"What? Talking?" Carter's abruptness startled her. "Here, I'll make it even easier for you. Why don't you explain what happened to nights ago?"

Her guess had been dead on, Abby figured. He was pissed about her going out and drinking.

"John," she started, "I know you think I have a problem. But I'm managing it. Yesterday, I went to a meeting . . ."

"Managing it?" He interrupted, his face turning red. "How exactly are you managing it?"

Upon hearing the anger in his voice, her shields instantly went up.

"Don't get upset with me, Carter – I'm handling my drinking."

"Yes, I can see how well you're handling it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just that I don't think that getting drunk and sleeping with your ex-boyfriend exactly qualifies as handling your alcoholism."

Abby felt as though she'd been smacked in the face. Her brain turned circles in her head as she tried to catch up to Carter's runaway assumptions.

"What? You think I slept with Luka?" she managed to spit out.

Utterly cold and calm, Carter said, "Tell me you didn't."

"I shouldn't have to," Abby gaped, her breathing now labored. It now dawned on her that Carter somehow knew Luka had spent the night.

"You also shouldn't be going out, getting drunk, and taking other men home with you." As the words flew from his mouth, Carter wished he could stop this torrent of accusations, but he couldn't help himself. "I can't believe you thought you could hide this from me – do you think I'm a child?"

"Well, you _did_ sleep with one," Abby's armor bit back. _He wants to bring up exes, we'll bring up exes_, she thought.

Carter was taken aback by her allusion to Rena – he hadn't thought about that failed relationship in forever. His frustration and hostility soon returned, however. "Look, this isn't about me, this is about you."

"No, it's about you," Abby countered. "_You_ think I'm a drunk."

"You _are_ a drunk, Abby," Carter crescendoed. "Maybe you want me to act indifferent toward you, but I can't. I'm not Luka. I actually give a damn about what happens to you. Look, I understand that you're leery because your father deserted you when you were a kid, but you can't keep testing me like this, seeing how much crap I'll put up with – why can't you just accept the fact that I love you?"

__

Where the fuck did THAT come from? Abby's consciousness screamed inside her head. "Whoa, my _father_?" She leaped up from the bench and stood in front of Carter, oblivious to the stares of the joggers passing by. "What am I, part of your psych rotation now?" She threw the coffee cup on the ground at his feet, spraying the hot liquid all over the cuffs of his pants.

"And you're not in love with me," she continued. "You're in love with this vision of what you want me to be. Some potentially wonderful girl who's suitable for the great John Truman Carter. But this is it, this is me," she smacked herself in the chest as she spoke, hot tears of anguish pooling in her eyes. "I'm sorry that's not good enough for you."

She whirled around so he couldn't see her crying and muttered, "I've got to get back to work." She marched back toward County. Once she was certain he wasn't following her, she paused. Placing a steadying hand on the cold concrete wall of an office building, she shook with sobs, unable to breathe.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Carter's fury imprisoned him on the bench. He wanted to scream, to expel all these feelings in an aching roar, as if such a thing were possible. His anger at Abby slowly swung back like a pendulum, striking him hard. Nauseating waves of disappointment bobbed in his stomach, and he tried vainly to fathom this woman. She had been his friend for more than two years now – they'd been through so much together. She really didn't have any other friends – no close friends, at least. She didn't talk to anyone else.

__

Susan comes the closest, Carter thought, _but that's it. Something's going on inside her head, something is telling her to keep drinking. I should've tried to listen to her . . . but she never opens up!_

He reflected on how, when they were still just friends, she had talked freely with him about herself in the context of Maggie or Luka – but she rarely talked about just herself, about what she was feeling at any particular moment. When she did, it was haltingly, begrudgingly – like when she finally opened up to him after Mark's death and told him when she'd started drinking again. Honestly, it amazed him how he could talk with her for hours and still come away having learned absolutely nothing about her. It was as if she loathed sharing pieces of herself. Every once and again she'd offer up tiny nuggets of truths about herself, as part of her little honesty show, which existed to make people think she wasn't trying to stay as far away from them as she actually was. But it was a rarity, and Carter started to consider that maybe they couldn't feed and sustain their fledging relationship with the mere crumbs Abby was offering up.

As the object of his infatuation, when he'd thought constantly about her and couldn't have her, Abby's air of mystery had intoxicated him, impelling him closer to her.

But as his love, now that they were together, the mystery seemed out of place, seemed more like obfuscation than something darkly alluring.

He leaned down and picked up her discarded coffee cup, threw both cups in a nearby trashcan, and headed back to his car.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

END NOTES: Chapter title comes from the Garbage song of the same name, which includes the lyrics: "_She's not the kind of girl/Who likes to tell the world/About the way she feels about herself./She takes a little time/In making up her mind./She doesn't want to fight against the tide._" The Abby-Carter "Haven't seen you around this morning"/"It's been busy" exchange was lifted from the Carter-Abby exchange in "Brothers & Sisters" (which, in turn, was lifted from the Luka-Abby exchange in "Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic"). The "honesty show" comments are a paraphrase of Carrie Fisher.


	7. One More Failure to Connect

TITLE: A Mouthful of Air

AUTHOR: JD

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to the following for their reviews and feedback: C. Midori, Mrs Eyre, The She Devil, and kitty. 

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Abby hits the drink – hard. And a chivalrous Luka reappears among the bedlam of the ER.

****

Chapter 7: One More Failure to Connect

Once Abby had collected herself and wiped dry her eyes, she stoically returned to County. As she made her way through the ambulance bay doors, she nearly bumped into Chuny, whose shift had just ended.

"Hey, Abby, glad I found you." Chuny spoke without breaking stride. "Code brown in exam one, all yours."

"Shit."

"Yeah, pretty much." Chuny laughed and disappeared from view.

In a daze, Abby went through the motions for the next few hours. All the patients blended together, one blurry, bloody mess. At some point, she snapped at Pratt for doing something stupid – she didn't remember what. 

"Looks like somebody had a heaping bowl of bitch flakes this morning," he murmured under his breath after she'd chewed him out.

Abby hadn't heard him, but she did realize that if she didn't have a cigarette soon, she was going to stick a scalpel in someone's eye. Sitting outside, calming her senses with each deep drag she took, she recreated the past couple days in her head, trying to figure out what exactly had happened. She couldn't figure out how Carter knew about Luka staying over. Luka left a good ten minutes before Carter knocked, and surely Luka hadn't said anything.

She was still furious that Carter thought she'd slept with Luka. It didn't say much for his opinion of her.

"Hey," said a kind voice in front of her. "This seat taken?"

Abby briefly looked up, shrugged, and took another drag. Susan took Abby's shrug for the closest thing she was going to get to an actual grant of permission, and she sat on the bench.

"You doing OK?" Susan continued.

"Peachy. Doesn't it show?" Abby smiled weakly.

From Abby's demeanor, Susan could guess the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway: "Did Carter talk to you?"

Abby nodded, slightly confused. "Yeah. Why? Did he talk to _you_?"

"Mmmhmmm. A little. His shift started near the end of mine last night."

"Ah. Lucky you." Abby pitched her cigarette out onto the street, and sat on her nervous hands.

Susan waited for more of an explanation from Abby. Getting none, she went on. "I guess I thought that everything would be straightened out once you two talked."

"Well, things are pretty straight between us right now," Abby laughed ruefully.

They were quiet for a moment. Abby raised her head, squinting at the midday sun that was failing to warm her.

"You know," Susan whispered, ". . . he thinks you slept with Luka." Abby continued looking skyward, her expression undecipherable. "He told me he saw Luka leaving your place early yesterday morning."

More silence.

"You didn't sleep with him, right?"

Abby turned to stare, her raised eyebrows enough of an answer for Susan. 

"Well did you tell _Carter_ that?"

"No," Abby finally spoke, indignantly. "He obviously jumped to conclusion that I'm a big lush who'll sleep with just about anybody. And I don't feel the need to explain myself to someone with such a low opinion of me."

"So, essentially, this is going to be one of those arguments that would basically fizzle away if either you or Carter wasn't amazingly stubborn."

"I've got to get back," Abby stood and turned.

"You know, there really are better ways to change the topic," Susan followed her. "My personal favorite is asking about the weather, but bitching about Weaver makes for a good non sequitur, too."

Abby gave no reply, and the women parted ways.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Abby remained nearly mute for the rest of her shift, speaking only when her job required it. When it was finally time for her to leave, she departed without so much as a word to anyone. She rode the train back toward her apartment, her mind on auto-pilot. When she exited the station, her body was humming, but she didn't know why. Her mind had evaporated, and she couldn't think straight. Her legs, acting accordingly, went where they wanted. Honestly, she knew exactly where they were taking her, but she felt powerless to change course.

Five minutes later, she was heading back toward her apartment, seventeen dollars lighter and a bottle of vodka stashed in the brown paper bag in her hand.

__

He thinks I'm a drunk? I'll show him a drunk. Abby felt oddly empowered as she entered her kitchen, and took down a glass from the shelf.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lying on the couch, Abby remembered her Byron: "Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication." She laughed to herself in the still of her living room. _See? I should've stayed with English lit. No one even blinks twice when a writer takes a drink._

She reached for the bottle and poured herself another drink. Rolling the full glass between her two hands, she peered lazily at the liquor. She took a quick sip, then grabbed her phone. She wanted to call Carter, wanted to explain the whole misunderstanding. Wanted to tell him about Brian. She stared at the number keys on the handset for an eternity.

She threw the phone down on the couch – she couldn't call Carter. First, she was drunk, and didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was right about her being an alcoholic. Second, _he_ should be calling _her_ to apologize for overreacting.

Bored, she turned on the television. After flipping passively through the channels and having nothing pique her interest, she turned off the set. She walked over to her bookshelf, taking in her eclectic collection. On the bottom shelf, one nondescript book caught her eye. She hadn't noticed it for a long time, hadn't opened it for even longer. She reached down and pulled it out.

She shuffled through the pages, finding some of the sentences she'd underlined a lifetime ago – they were just empty words now, holding no hope of redemption for her. She read outloud to herself, her tone mockingly ceremonial: "There is the type who always believes that after being entirely free from alcohol for a period of time he can take a drink without danger."

She skimmed ahead to another underlined passage: "Then there are types entirely normal in every respect except in the effect alcohol has upon them. They are often able, intelligent, friendly people." 

__

Well, that's not me – no one ever accused me of being friendly.

She flipped ahead to the chapter that before had always comforted her, put her at ease.

"And acceptance is the answer to _all_ my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation – some fact of my life – unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God's world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely on life's terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes."

__

What needs to be changed in me. Those words made her think of Carter, who – to her – had seemed so eager to change her.

Abby sighed, shut the book and placed it back on the shelf. She didn't feel much like making a searching and fearless moral inventory of herself. She just wanted to sleep. She toddled into her bedroom, discarding clothing along the way.

__

God grant me the serenity to sleep, she thought as she smiled and pulled the comforter over her head. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Abby slunk into the lounge the next morning, her head pounding, and poured herself a glass of water from the sink.

"Will someone please tell me why there are a dozen muddy women standing around outside singing?" she asked as she reached into her bag and availed herself of the aspirin within.

Chen, the lounge's only other occupant, answered, "It's the U of C women's rugby team. One of their players had a broken arm that I set. I think they're just waiting on a concussion – Kovac has her."

"They have _way_ too much energy for this time of day."

"You should've been here earlier. Weaver went apoplectic when they started singing in chairs. Something about '_I used to work in Chicago_. . .' I'm not one hundred percent sure, but the lyrics were gross, I can tell you that. Anyway, I thought Weaver was going to start swinging the Cane of Justice." Chen laughed heartily, recalling the image in her mind.

Haleh stuck her head in the door. "We need a doctor out here!" she said urgently, and withdrew just as quickly as she had appeared.

Wordlessly, Abby and Chen sped out of the lounge to help.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Abby stretched her legs, staring at the blood on her sneakers. _At least they weren't new_, she thought morbidly. She'd helped Chen and Gallant try to save a gunshot victim – some road rage incident that years ago would've resulted in mere traded insults but in today's barbaric chaos caused a man's death.

She flicked the ashes from her cigarette and leaned back against the bench, taking advantage of the downtime while the ER was suspiciously slow. Unbidden, her mind returned to the hurtful words she and Carter had hurled yesterday, unleashing mutual damage upon each other.

She didn't know how she felt about him anymore, and was completely baffled as to his feelings for her now – but she knew she hated feeling this way: hollow and irredeemable. The divine architecture that had seemed to support their friendship through so much wasn't able to withstand the pressure yesterday, and the foundation had faltered, leaving both Carter and Abby vulnerable to the elements.

A surreptitious breeze caught Abby's hair, which briefly flew in her eyes. As she curled the fugitive strands behind her ear, a shadow appeared on the ground by her feet. She squinted up at his smiling figure.

"I have something for you," Luka said. Abby shaded her eyes with her hand, watching as he reached into his pocket. He withdrew a closed fist and sat next to her on the bench.

In his hand, he held out a key.

She looked from the glinting metal object in his large palm to his face, perplexed. 

"It's yours," he explained. "From the other night. I put it in my pocket but I forgot to give it back to you. Didn't notice until laundry day."

It seemed to Abby she had squandered lifespans since that night Luka had opened up to her, comforted her. It had been just three nights ago.

"Thanks," Abby took the key from him, playing with it in her right hand, while taking a puff off the almost-finished cigarette in her left.

"Well, I thought about keeping it," he continued, a childlike smile on his face. "Never know when I might need to get back into your apartment to replace an aquarium or something." He leaned into her with a playful shoulder, hoping to get her to smile.

"Hey," she said with a trace of light in her dark eyes, "if the fire escape was good enough for me, it's good enough for you, too."

"That's not fair," he protested facetiously. "You had an accomplice."

At Luka's reference to Carter, Abby's face fell. Her withdrawal did not go unnoticed, but Luka misread that cause of her disquietude.

"Sorry to bring that up," he backpedaled. "I know we weren't on the best terms back then." He looked in askance at her. Her expression unreadable, he continued, quieter, "I thought we could joke about it now. You've seemed . . . happier at work these past weeks."

Abby suddenly wanted to plaster her hands over his mouth, preventing his words from straying down the obvious path they were approaching, but she sat immobile, forced to hear his perceptions.

"I just want you to be happy, Abby," he went on, gazing down at the top of her bowed head. "And if it's Carter that makes you happy, then I'm happy for you."

Abby tossed her head, flashing a painfully wan smile at him. "Your sense of timing is impeccable," she stated.

"What do you mean?" A confused smile appeared on his face.

"Carter and I broke up . . . I think."

Luka, stunned, said the first words that popped in his head. "But, you seemed so . . ."

"Happy! Luka, I get it." She caught the irritation in her voice and tried to downplay it. "But if you say 'happy' one more time, I'm going to throw myself in front of your Viper."

Luka had no clue what to do. He considered blindly taking her side, offering a pithy "It's his loss," or some other weak consolation. But he realized that she could just wave such empty kindness away, like the buzz of an impertinent fly. Instead, he decided to try a radical approach – he decided he'd try to get Abby to talk to him.

He nearly asked "Do you want to talk about it?" before the ridiculousness of posing that question to Abby struck him.

Rather, he simply asked, "What happened?"

Luka's question surprised Abby. She quickly scrolled through her mental inventory of all their conversations. She couldn't recall him ever asking a personal question . . . not anticipating a truthful answer, anyway.

She didn't even consider telling him that Carter thought they'd slept together. Not only did she find that admission embarrassing, but she figured that Carter's unfounded fear was merely a distraction from what was really bothering him. They had deeper problems than Luka's stay at Abby's – even deeper problems than her drinking. It wouldn't be fair to pour guilt over Luka, when all he'd done was try to help her.

Instead, Abby gave short shrift to the blowup she and Carter had had: "I guess I'm not what he thought he wanted. Just not good enough." She tried to smile, pretending it didn't hurt.

Luka was too familiar with that particular grimace, however. 

"Are you sure about that?" Luka asked, a flashlight intruding on the darker corners of his mind, searching for something, anything, that might bring back Abby's vivacity. 

"Oh, he was pretty explicit," she replied, Carter's accusations rattling around in her brain.

"I only ask because . . . ." Again, he had difficulty approaching this subject with Abby. He wanted to talk to her, but he was afraid of scaring her with any perceived slights. He proceeded carefully. "Sometimes I worry that _you're_ more aware of your shortcomings – real or imagined – than anyone else. And I think you tend to put those insecurities on other people."

Her brooding silence troubled him, and he peered at her warily as if she were about to erupt like Vesuvius, scalding him with her fiery sarcasm. When her stillness continued, he took it upon himself to further explain. "It's like with Susan at that seminar, when you talked about where you went to school, or that poem. I don't think she – or anyone else there – thought that you were somehow less intelligent. But you were so defensive about it."

He grew quieter, watching her mood. She sat wordless as he went on: "And with us, you and me . . . . The things you charged me with thinking, they weren't true."

Granted, all either of them could think about at that moment were the words Luka _had_ spoken the night of their huge fight so long ago. He wished in vain that he could extract what he'd said from her mind. He desperately wanted to cry out that she _was_ that pretty, that she _was_ that special. To avoid re-airing the ugliest insults that were batted around that night, however, he merely acknowledged the words her defenses had flung at him that chilled evening: "You've never been a _burden_ to anyone, Abby. You'd never allow that to happen."

Not knowing what else to say, he steered his dialogue back toward Carter, where it rightfully belonged. "Anyway, you are good enough for Carter. He's lucky to have you." He paused and stood without looking at her. "Anyone would be."

He forced a regretful smile to his face and slowly walked back into the ER, leaving a thunderstruck Abby sitting all alone.

END NOTES/DISCLAIMER: Chapter title comes from "This Is How It Goes" by Aimee Mann, which includes the lyrics: "_This is how it goes:/One more failure to connect./With so many, how could I object?/And you – what on earth did you expect?/Well, I can't tell you, baby,/when this is how it goes._" The passages Abby reads are out of the AA Big Book. It's not being reproduced for profit here, and the book itself is sometimes given out free at meetings, so I can't see why someone would have a problem with a few sentences being quoted here, but just in case: Please do not reproduce those passages for profit. _Alcoholics Anonymous_, Fourth Edition, copyright 2001.


	8. Not What's Missing

TITLE: A Mouthful of Air

AUTHOR: JD

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to everyone who reviewed any part of this story. And thanks again to Em for the Croatian swears.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Carter confronts Luka, and – for better or for worse – everything returns to normal.

****

Chapter 8: Not What's Missing

Luka loosened his necktie and pulled the noose off over his heavy head, grabbing his bag out of his locker. His shift hadn't been obscenely difficult, and yet he felt drained, ready to collapse. His tired mind wandered back to the ambulance bay, to that gut-wrenching talk he'd had with Abby earlier in the day. He fretted anxiously about whether he'd made himself clear to her – Abby's total absence of reaction stymied him. He considered trying to bring it up with her again – her insecurities, her lack of self-esteem, and her hasty ability to project them onto even the best-intentioned innocents – but he knew he wouldn't. He felt he had crossed some line with her today, and he didn't want to press his luck. At this point, he knew she was not quite angry with him. True, she hadn't spoken to him the rest of the day. But he was able to recognize when she was avoiding him – if she hadn't wanted to see his face for the rest of her shift, she easily would've secreted herself away whenever he approached. It was an oft-used skill she had.

No, she wasn't avoiding him. Her silence was merely a sign that something was weighing her down, troubling her mind. Luka pondered the possibility that he'd touched a nerve, that he'd somehow gotten through the battlements and barricades that shielded Abby from others – and, to a lesser extent, from herself.

He pressed his palm against his locker door, the satisfying click signaling that it was finally time for him to go home and give himself over to his exhaustion.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The setting sun allowed a handful of its expiring rays to illuminate the otherwise shady ambulance bay, and Luka noted as he was departing that Carter was shooting hoops by himself. Luka briefly stared at the animated young doctor, Carter's unbounded energy making him feel even more weary. Luka lowered his head and slowly trudged along the far wall, trying to walk by unnoticed. He was surprised at how often he managed to skirt past others unobserved – even though his size might ordinarily elicit glances, the ghostlike manner in which he carried himself usually rendered him invisible to people going about their daily lives.

He could see out of the corner of his downcast eye that he was almost directly behind Carter. A noxious part of him wanted to grab Carter by the lapels and flatten him up against the bricks, wanted to yell at him for being a spoiled idiot: _Of course Abby's good enough for you! You're not good enough for her!_

But his better judgment won out, and a voice in his mind repeated in a soothing chorus: _It doesn't concern you, it doesn't concern you, it doesn't concern you_. . . . His steps moved along to the cadence of his thoughts, taking him further away from the ER.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

__

Is he that dense? Carter thought as he grabbed an errant rebound. _The man is six-foot-four and he thinks he can slink by and no one will see him?_ He wiped a trickle of perspiration from his neck, the setting sun turning his brown hair a glowing auburn as he vented his aggression at the hoop.

An unremorseful combativeness was awakening within him as the lumbering Croat passed behind him. Carter's mind flashed back to other injuries done him by long-gone doctors. _At least when Doug Ross slept with Harper, he had the balls to come clean about it, to apologize to me. And it's not even like he knew about the two of us. But Luka knows about me and Abby – he just can't stand it!_

Carter was utterly flabbergasted at the way Luka was innocently pretending to go about his business. His hostility ballooned out of control, until he just couldn't stand it anymore. He reared back with his right arm and chucked the basketball at the opposite wall. It hit with a resounding rubber _THWACK_ barely two feet in front of Luka's approaching head.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"_Svet karati, bestija_!" Luka exploded, startled by the sudden bombardment. He threw his bag to the ground, picked up the still-rolling basketball and marched over to Carter. 

With his eyes on fire and his chin firm, Carter stood tall, his fierce expression daring his rival to start something.

But Luka simply tossed the ball back to Carter and abruptly said, "Watch it, Carter."

Carter caught the ball without flinching, his gaze continuing to bore into Luka's skull.

The mantra kept repeating in Luka's head – _it doesn't concern you, it doesn't concern you_ – but his execrable pride was beating it down, slowly and convincingly.

"I don't have a problem with you, Carter," he tried his best to explain calmly. "What's going on between you and Abby is none of my business."

For a split second, Carter actually felt sympathy for Abby. He was mystified by how Luka could be so cold – how he could let Abby get drunk, sleep with her, and then pretend that it didn't matter.

"Oh really?" Carter spat out. "Because I think it _is_ your business."

Luka, perplexed, asked, "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Carter replied.

Luka stood there voiceless, not having the slightest idea what Carter was talking about. He waited for the incensed doctor to continue.

Carter wasn't sure that he bought Luka's oblivious act, but the man did look confused. "I _saw_ you," he said, hurling the ball back toward Luka, who caught it and cradled it in the crook of his arm. "I saw you leave Abby's house the other morning . . . after you'd both been out at the bar."

Luka shut his eyes in understanding, barely shaking his head. "We were just _talking_," he explained, moving closer to Carter until the men were eye-to-eye just inches apart.

"Right," Carter derided, refusing to stand down. "Because you had to talk at her apartment. You couldn't talk somewhere else, somewhere public – say, at the bar." 

Carter's ill-placed sarcasm stung Luka, and though he knew the truth shouldn't come out like this, he relished what he was about to say: "No, Carter, we _couldn't_ talk at the bar."

"Why not?"

"Because Brian was there."

Instantaneously, every jealous and resentful thought Carter had been feeling dissipated and in their stead flooded a heartbreaking preoccupation with Abby.

"What?" Carter found he could barely stand. "She didn't tell me that. What happened? Did he come after her?" Carter couldn't help but cast his own panic about his stabbing – and his dread of Paul Sobriki – upon Abby, feeling her fear, her paralysis.

Luka softened slightly as Carter's crestfallen face communicated his deep concern.

"Look," Luka started, "I'm not sure exactly what happened myself. All of a sudden he was just there, standing near Abby. When he saw me he took off, but Abby was still pretty shaken up."

Luka considered telling Carter _why_ Brian had run away from him, telling Carter about that night at the Windbreaker bar, but he decided against it. Abby could tell him if she wanted. Besides, that was an act he took upon himself just for Abby – not for Joyce, not for any other woman Brian ever might've done that to.

That was reparations for Abby.

"So I went to her apartment, just to make sure she was OK," Luka went on. "We wound up talking a good part of the night, and at some point I must've fallen asleep on her couch. Then in the morning she woke me up, and I went home."

He paused, trying to read the disorder apparent in Carter's face. Luka's exhaustion, once annoying, now felt debilitating – it seemed to him that every conversation he'd had in the past few days had been fraught with turmoil. He was suddenly aware that he was completely weary of talking, and he hoped not to have to talk to anyone else for a long, long time.

He decided to get all that was left to say out of his system, so as not to have to mention it ever again: "I've always been above-board with you, Carter, but if you're mad, be mad at me. Don't put it on her. She deserves some compassion."

With that, he tossed the basketball back to Carter, strode over to pick up his bag, and silently left the ambulance bay without once turning around.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Luka was right, Carter knew. Despite whatever reasons he had to be angry with Abby – and there were several, to be sure – he now knew he hadn't been able to be there for her when she'd needed him. Carter recalled firsthand how traumatic it was to be confronted with a former attacker, even in a non-threatening, supposedly safe venue. When Sobriki had reappeared at the ER, Carter felt as though his insides were trying to evacuate his body, trying to reach a place of unattainable security. He knew what it was like to be torn apart by terror and alarm. Abby must have been frozen in horror upon seeing Brian again.

Even Carter's most violent egotism conceded that, if _he_ couldn't have been there that night, he was glad Luka had been. Where Abby's safety was concerned, all petty competitions between him and Luka were forgotten. Brian might have tried something if it had just been Susan and Deb with Abby, but there's no way he would've confronted Abby with the hulking Croat there.

As the far-off sirens of an ambulance grew louder, Carter hugged the basketball to his chest and tramped back into work.

He resolved to show up at Abby's place after his shift to ask her forgiveness, his hands full of take-out and dried flowers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

****

{Epilogue}

The sun had set and risen on Chicago a few times since Luka and Carter's contained squabble in the ambulance bay, and tensions ran remarkably more shallow in the ER.

Weaver's wrath was currently being directed toward Chen because of a misstep that was ostensibly Pratt's fault – but Pratt had since gone home, so Chen had to bear the brunt of Weaver's verbal assault.

As Chen walked down the hallway away from the admit desk, Hurricane Weaver thundered at her heels, still gesturing irately. "And another thing, . . . ." Her voice faded as the two turned a corner. Susan, leaning on the desk counter, blissfully watched her nemesis depart, happy to be out of the crossfire this time.

Abby, who had been standing nearby, begged Susan to continue the story she had been telling before being distracted by her boss. "So _what_ was she doing with the candle?"

"Oh," Susan snapped out of her reverie. "So this patient had been trying to remove her . . . um . . . bikini hair with candle wax. Guess she didn't realize that the wax was going to be hot – she didn't strike me as a Mensa candidate. Anyway, she got startled and dropped the candle. Superficial second degree burns over the entire bikini area."

"Ouch!" Abby exclaimed, pressing her thighs together reflexively. "Guess a huge blistery burn kind of obviates the whole point of a bikini wax, huh?"

"That's not the best part," Susan laughed, barely managing to get out the punchline of the story. "It was Gallant's patient." Susan cracked up, and Abby joined in.

"What, did someone leave the nitrous on?" Carter strode up to the desk, a grin on his face. He wagged a petulant finger at the snickering women. "How about some decorum, ladies? Don't you know this doctor stuff is serious business?"

As Susan rolled her eyes, Abby countered, "Yeah, _that_ was why I decided not to go back to med school. They just couldn't fit me for the giant stick they needed to shove up my ass."

Susan clenched her eyes tight, her body shaking with laughter at Abby's deadpan response.

"I could make a comment right now, but there's no way I'm spending another day hearing about the exciting world of sexual harassment regulations and inappropriate workplace behavior," Carter said, smiling. "Wanna grab a bite at Doc's?"

Abby nodded, and walked around the desk toward him. He took her hand in his as they passed through the doors.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Luka stood unnoticed, leaning against a wall and watching, his heart a battleground of regret and fulfillment. 

Abby was not his for the keeping – he'd had her, but didn't know how to be with her. And now, she'd apparently found someone who could be with her the way she needed.

As he pushed away from the wall and headed off in the other direction, he held out a hope that he, too, would one day find someone who could be with him – someone who could ease this oddly familiar ache in his chest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

END NOTES: Chapter title comes from the song "Pitseleh" by Elliot Smith, which includes the lyrics: "_I'm not what's missing from your life now. I could never be the puzzle pieces. . . . The first time I saw you, I knew it would never last. I'm not half what I wish I was. I'm so angry, I don't think it will ever pass. And I was bad news for you just because I never meant to hurt you._"

That's all, folks. Yes, I know there are loose ends, and angst still reigns supreme, but life doesn't wrap things up into tidy bows, and neither do I. And after watching "Chaos Theory" and "Dead Again," I don't know if Abby should be with _anybody_ right now. Anyhoo, I'd like to leave you all with a song. I'd sing "Danke Schoen" a la Ferris Bueller, but I think "Real Bad News" by Aimee Mann is more apropos of Abby, especially with respect to her relationship with Carter (yes, I know Abby's got her problems and a lot of "ER" fans can't stand her, but for me, despising Abby would merely be an exercise in self-loathing). So without further ado:

__

You don't know, so don't say you do –

You don't.

You might think that things will change, but take my word –

They won't.

You paint a lovely picture but reality intrudes

With a message for you,

And it's real bad news.

I was undecided like you at first,

But I couldn't stem the tide of overwhelm and thirst.

You try to keep it going but a lot of avenues

Just aren't open to you

When you're real bad news.

I've got love and anger, they come as a pair.

You can take your chances, but buyer beware.

And I won't make you feel bad when I show you

This big ball of sad isn't worth even filling with air.

And, baby, let me tell you, you can get some things confused,

Like whose secrets are whose.

And that's real bad news,

Real bad news,

Real bad news.


End file.
